


On Call

by suchanadorer



Series: Hamish Watson-Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Hamish is sick and Doctor Dad is not there this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Call

**Author's Note:**

> For [Hamish Watson-Holmes'](http://hamish-watson-holmes-tumblr.com) Tumblr.

"John, you must come back. I am completely unfit for this."

"No, you're not. He'll be fine."

"I will _kill_ our son. You can not do this to us."

"Sherlock, luv, he has a twenty-four hour bug. It’s been going around, we’ve seen a lot of it at work. Only difference is that they didn't get sick after spending the day splashing about in puddles with their Father. Just keep him comfortable, watch some telly, and I'll be home as soon as I can."

Sherlock draws a hand over his face and crouches down next to Hamish, who is sleeping on the sofa, Sherlock’s blue dressing gown drawn over him. His eyes flit over the small, curled form as he talks. “When does the conference end?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be home late tomorrow night. The train gets in around ten, I think.”

Sherlock stands and wheels away from the couch, out towards the kitchen. "For God's sake, John, you're a doctor!” He yells, but Hamish shifts in his sleep and his voice shifts to a hiss. “You can't just leave him in my care! Think of your Hippocratic Oath!" Sherlock hops up onto the kitchen counter, his feet balanced on the table opposite, legs crossed at the ankles. He tucks his hand into his armpit and presses the phone between head and shoulder while he checks his watch.

"Now you're being unreasonable." Sherlock rolls his eyes and worries at a thumbnail between his teeth, sighing at John’s scolding. “Give him ice cream and some of that liquid paracetamol that’s in the bathroom cabinet. Let him sleep, let him watch movies, let him eat junk food since that means he’s eating. Give him a kiss from me and-“

”John, please!”

John’s tone is firmer and Sherlock presses his lips to a thin line. ”Give him a kiss from me and I will see you both tomorrow evening. I love you. I have to go.”

Sherlock sighs and clicks his phone closed. He hops down and moves back to the sofa, placing a hand on Hamish’s head. The boy stirs under his touch but doesn’t wake, and Sherlock cards his fingers gently through Hal’s dark hair. He walks to the bathroom and returns with a dark brown bottle, which he sets on the table before retreating to his armchair. He curls up into it, knees tucked in tight to his chest, bare feet sticking out under his pyjama pants as he stares at his sleeping son.

Hamish rolls over on the sofa, Boswell falling to the floor between it and the coffee table. Sherlock is there in two long strides, sitting on the edge of the table with the bear between his knees.

"Dad?" Of course he wants John. Sherlock sighs, ruffling his fingers through his own dark curls before laying a hand on Hamish's forehead and frowning. Hamish's eyes open lazily, staring off into the distance for a few seconds before focusing on his father. "Where's Dad?"

Sherlock swallows and gave him a strained smile. "He's gone to work. I'm going to look after you today." He extends an arm, waggling Boswell in front of him, but Hamish stretches his arms past the bear, reaching out for Sherlock. He sets Boswell aside on the couch and scoots forward as Hamish wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck and pulls weakly. Sherlock gathers the boy in his arms and folds them both into the sofa, Hamish resting in Sherlock's lap. He fists a hand in Sherlock’s t-shirt and Sherlock looks down at him. “You and me today, then.” He kisses the top of Hamish’s head and leans forward after the remote control.

The day passes at a languid pace, and the lines at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth slowly disappear in a slow rotation of naps, glasses of juice, and bowls of strawberry ice cream. Hamish sleeps, Sherlock drinks three pots of tea, and they watch Cars twice, Sherlock stretched along the length of the sofa with Hamish sprawled on top of him. Sherlock takes deep breaths and Hamish giggles when he rides the swell and collapse of Sherlock’s stomach. The medicine is met with only mild disapproval after a certain amount of negotiation; there’s hardly any risk of an overdose, so Sherlock takes his first, bolstering Hamish’s confidence. In the afternoon they run out of tissues so Sherlock sets a loo roll on the coffee table.

”That’s not what Dad would have done.”

“Dad’s not here. This will be more than adequate.” Hamish glares skeptically at the addition to the collection of bowls and mugs, and Sherlock’s heart skips a beat as he sees John’s face through a sort of Sherlock Holmes filter, blazing eyes caught between a mop of dark hair and high cheekbones.

He is completely unprepared for the tears that spill down Hamish’s cheeks.

“I don’t feel good. My throat is scratchy and my head feels heavy.” Sherlock’s tongue runs over his lower lip and he takes a ragged breath, sitting down next to Hamish on the sofa. Sherlock sits Indian-style and Hamish crawls into his lap, whimpering quietly and shooting angry glances at the loo roll that caused this whole mess. Sherlock gives it a scowl, then cocks his head and smiles, looking down at Hamish.

He leans forward and picks up the roll, contemplating it before his mouth curls further into an impish grin. Hamish watches him with shining eyes as he throws the roll towards the kitchen. It unfurls in a glorious arc, leaving a trail of paper over the floor and half of the table until it collides with the lamp and lands unceremoniously among the clutter.

Hamish laughs until he coughs and Sherlock rubs circles on his back, placing kisses on the top of his head. “Would Dad have done that?” he murmurs into Hamish's hair. He is met with giggles.

”No, Father.”

“Mm, I thought not."

Evening comes and Sherlock bundles Hamish up in his dressing gown. He walks to the stairs and climbs the first two, then pauses. Hamish sighs in his sleep, tucking his head into Sherlock’s neck. He turns and goes back down the stairs, heading into his and John’s bedroom. He bends and lays Hamish down on the bed, slipping the dressing gown out from underneath him. Sherlock steps lightly over him to settle on the bed between Hamish and the wall, settling with one elbow crooked, head resting on his fist. He spends a long moment just looking at the sleeping form in front of him before curling an arm around him. He pulls Hamish close to his chest, fitting the boy’s head into the space under his chin, and drifts off to sleep.

“Good morning.” Sherlock blinks slowly, his eyes focusing on a figure leaning against the bedroom door. John is still wearing his jacket and his suitcase is standing behind him in the hall. He smiles and moves into the room, dropping to a crouch at the edge of the bed.

“You’re back early.” Sherlock stretches an arm to John, cupping his cheek in his hand as if to make sure he’s real. John leans into the touch, his eyes dropping to Hamish.

“There was nothing on today that sounded fun, or necessary, or even relevant, so I figured I could come back and see how you two are coping.” He puts his lips to Hamish’s forehead and smiles when he pulls back. “No fever. I told you it was just a bug.”

Sherlock shifts and meets John halfway, giving him a lingering, sleepy kiss. John’s tongue slides over Sherlock’s lower lip and he opens his mouth to reciprocate when a flurry of coughing erupts between them. Sherlock brushes Hamish’s hair back from his forehead as he blinks awake.

“Hey, sport. How you feeling?” John smiles down at Hamish as he yawns and rubs at his eyes.

“Hi, Dad!” He reaches out for John, who leans down obligingly and lets himself be drawn into Hamish’s embrace. He kisses Hal’s cheek and pulls back, looking from him to Sherlock. “Did you and Father have a good day yesterday?”

Hamish twists under the blanket to look up at Sherlock, who smiles down at him. They both look at John and Hamish nods enthusiastically.

“Looks like I’m off the hook for permanent Doctor Dad duty, then.” John rises, toes off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket before lying down beside them, Hamish tucked in neatly between John and Sherlock in their bed.


End file.
